women:
they never reason about their blameworthy actions,--feeling carries
them off their feet; even in their dissimulation there is an element of
sincerity; and in women alone crime may exist without baseness, for
it often happens that they do not know how it came about that they
committed it.

"I am going to Saint-James, to a ball the Chouans give to-morrow night,
and--"

"But," said Corentin, interrupting her, "that is fifteen miles distant;
had I not better accompany you?"

"You think a great deal too much of something I never think of at all,"
she replied, "and that is yourself."

Marie's contempt for Corentin was extremely pleasing to Hulot, who made
his well-known grimace as she turned away in the direction of her own
house. Corentin followed her with his eyes, letting his face express
a consciousness of the fatal power he knew he could exercise over the
charming creature, by working upon the passions which sooner or later,
he believed, would give her to him.

As soon as Mademoiselle de Verneuil reached home she began to deliberate
on her ball-dress. Francine, accustomed to obey without understanding
her mistress's motives, opened the trunks, and suggested a Greek
costume. The Republican fashions of those days were all Greek in style.
Marie chose one which could be put in a box that was easy to carry.

"Francine, my dear, I am going on an excursion into the country; do you
want to go with me, or will you stay behind?"

"Stay behind!" exclaimed Francine; "then who would dress you?"

"Where have you put that glove I gave you this morning?"

"Here it is."

"Sew this green ribbon into it, and, above all, take plenty of
money." Then noticing that Francine was taking out a number of the new
Republican coins, she cried out, "Not those; they would get us murdered.
Send Jeremie to Corentin--no, stay, the wretch would follow me--send to
the commandant; ask him from me for some six-franc crowns."

With the feminine sagacity which takes in the smallest detail, she
thought of everything. While Francine was completing the arrangements
for this extraordinary trip, Marie practised the art of imitating an
owl, and so far succeeded in rivalling Marche-a-Terre that the
illusion was a good one. At midnight she left Fougeres by the gate
of Saint-Leonard, took the little path to Nid-aux-Crocs, and started,
followed by Francine, to cross the Val de Gibarry with a firm step,
under the impulse of that strong will which give